


End of the Road

by z0mbieshake



Series: A Crooked Path [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Heartbreak, M/M, Post-Canon, Regret, post 3x11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 11:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2108394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/z0mbieshake/pseuds/z0mbieshake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felix was a fool to think he could escape those ironclad rules he had set as a child. Love was never enough and no matter how hard he pleaded or cried, no one would save him: Not his father, not Malcolm, not Pan.</p><p>In the afterlife, Felix finally realizes his mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of the Road

**Author's Note:**

> Got this idea while I was checking out a Let's Play of Murdered: Soul Suspect. Clearly, the first thing that came to my mind when faced with a Horror-Mystery game about a ghost trying to hunt down a serial killer was Panlix. 
> 
> Something of an unofficial sequel to my fic "A Crooked Path" if it were set in the same canon as Once Upon a Time.

At first, Felix couldn't understand why he stood amongst a wretched looking crowd in a cheap tavern that looked as if it were made of mist and shadows, why his face was _unmarred_ but offset by the crooked, glowing scar on his chest, a stark gold like the sun peeking through a crack along the left side of his chest. Of all the years he had lived, Felix didn't expect this to be his afterlife. He didn't think he'd choose the life of a painted whore as his eternity.

 

_"Don't be afraid. Be flattered."_

_"No, no, n-no, no, no!"_

 

It didn't take long for him to understand: Anything would be better than another eternity in Neverland and this was the only other life he had. He'd rather be used by men than deal with another heartbreak. He'd rather it be cold and transactional.

Felix was a fool to think he could escape those ironclad rules he had set as a child. Love was never enough and no matter how hard he pleaded or cried, no one would save him: Not his father, not Malcolm, _not Pan_. Hans was right; Hans was always right and if he wasn't such a stubborn fool, he could've lived a happy life as the prince's consort and died in comfort, could've chosen to live forever in the memory of that barren but friendly manor.

But no. He chose Malcolm. And this was his eternity now.

He reclined against the wall, too familiar with his habits despite the centuries of stagnation. With each customer that came to him, each bat of his lovely, painted eyes, Felix finally gave in. It wasn't a matter of whether or not he was happy with his life. He never had a choice to begin with. He was a _whore_ and he was never meant to love. Now that Peter took away his heart, all the pieces finally clicked into place.

The irony of it all, the man who showed him he had a heart was the same one who crushed it in his hands.

Felix didn't protest as he was led into the back alley, didn't fight when he was taken against the wall. This was how it was meant to be. No Malcolm to muddle his thoughts. No Peter to steal him away. He was back in his own world with his own rules, a world that couldn't hurt him the same way Peter did. To this afterlife he had chosen, Felix offered it a toast in a misty glass filled with cheap liquor.

"…Felix?"

 _That voice_. Felix froze where he sat, not daring to turn around. It had to be his imagination, a stray memory replaying in the background. Why would Peter choose Malcolm as his eternal form? Peter treated Malcolm as another person. Nearly every time Felix brought up his past self, Peter would spit and hiss and condemned that bastard. Felix wondered if that was why he chose to kill him at the end. Felix was Malcolm's property and despite Peter's claim, killing Felix was cutting the final tie to his wretched past.

"Felix?"

The voice called again. Felix tried so desperately to ignore it. The scar on his chest throbbed at the sound, pounding without a heart and bleeding liquid gold as he clutched at it.

"Please look at me."

Felix shook his head, pursing his lips when the voice persisted. He begged for anyone to come over and save him, take him behind the alley and make him forgot all about this man.

"I love you."

Those three words. _Those three damn words_. Felix gave in, turning around and already melting at the sight of _Malcolm_ , his first love. He could see a wound on the right side of his chest, mirroring his own golden scar but far more jagged and deep. It looked like a stab wound of sorts with a crooked blade, _possibly the dark one's dagger_.

A tired smile graced Malcolm's face. It had been so long since Felix had seen the scoundrel's true form, he'd forgotten how soft he looked despite his age, "I found you," Malcolm whispered, moving forward, reaching for him.

Nearly throwing himself away, Felix slid off his stool and backed off, watching Malcolm like he was a madman. He swallowed the dryness in his throat, surprised that even when dead, behaviour necessary to live carried over as habits. The scoundrel didn't look surprised. He lowered his hand but kept his eyes on Felix, watching him with sadness that he did not deserve.

"Don't go," Malcolm whispered, "I need you in my life."

Felix shook his head, his fear of falling back in love quickly giving way to contempt. This wasn't like the night in Krumm. Felix didn't choose to walk away from Malcolm. This time, it was Malcolm himself who tore them apart. It was Peter who killed him.

"No you don't," Felix growled in reply, "You never needed me."

Malcolm was shaking his head this time, "It was a mistake. I was just so angry at Rumple and I wasn't thinking," He pleaded, head down and eyes desperate, "Without you, I had nothing left to live for."

Felix couldn't feel a single damn thing from Malcolm's words other than hate and regret. He figured this was what happened when you lacked a heart, "You should've left me in the streets."

"Look at me. Look at who I am," Malcolm replied, face knitted together in pain, "I could've chosen any form I wanted but I chose this one _for you_. I don't need those centuries in Neverland. I didn’t need Peter Pan. _But I need you_."

Peter Pan was Felix's best friend. Malcolm was Felix's lover. It was a distinction that Felix understood all to well. But it wasn't enough and it never would be. Malcolm was confused; he thought Felix wasn't aware of his intention but Felix had been _dead_ longer and he'd already figured out how the afterlife worked.

Spitting his words, Felix replied, "I'm so _fucking_ flattered."

Centuries of self-indulgence and simplicity finally caught up to Malcolm as he realized how he squandered Felix's love. All those years in Neverland took away his ability to distinguish between leisure and true happiness and becoming Malcolm brought everything back. Hiring a whore, swindling patrons at a bar, those were leisure. Falling in love with Felix was true happiness. Peter Pan foolishly mistook the two and threw away true happiness for petty satisfaction.

But Felix never made that mistake. Felix always loved Pan even when the boy no longer held him, no longer kissed him or whispered sweet words to him by the fire, even when the boy was enamoured with the first girl his shadow had brought to Neverland and spurned when she opposed him. Felix remained at his side, _always_.

Long ago, Felix wondered if Malcolm would toss away his life when something better came along. He wondered if he only loved him because he had nothing else to scrape from the bottom of the barrel. For all those centuries, Felix felt guilty for doubting Malcolm, for even considering that the man didn't truly love him. Now the scoundrel was back, nothing to his name, not even a son, back at Felix's heels pleading for his love. Felix felt _stupid_ for ever throwing those doubts away.

"I love you," Malcolm said weakly, too weak to think of anything else to say.

"I don't love you," Felix replied, "Not anymore."

" _Don't say_ that," A sob came from Malcolm and it shook Felix, "Please don't do this. Please don't leave me," Tears like fire left glowing, wispy trails as they fell from his eyes, "I'm sorry."

 _Contempt._ And inching its way into his heart, _sadness_. But Felix couldn't fall back in love with him. He'd learned the hard way what would happen if he did and he couldn't survive another pain like that.

So Felix promptly raised his hand and brought it down on Malcolm's cheek, striking him harder than he's ever had before, "Like you have any right to cry in front of me!" He screamed, his voice echoing and startling the other ghostly patrons, " _You killed me!_ I loved you for centuries. I threw away _everything_ for you. And this is how you repay me? Ripping out my heart so you could make your own Neverland?"

Malcolm didn't know what to say, didn't know if he could ever justify what he did, "I still love you. I've always loved you," Malcolm babbled out, scrubbing the tears from his face desperately, "I love you more than anything else in this world."

"I know," Felix said, the scar over his heart was proof, "And that's what makes it so much worse," He left the bar with Malcolm following behind him, "It's too late, _Peter_. You can dress yourself up as Malcolm but it's not the same. Hans was right all along: Love is weakness," For most of his life, he always considered that a lie. In the end, the exiled did find someone to love, did find happiness. Even Rumple achieved his happy ending despite all odds. But for Felix, the boy who wanted in a world that had nothing to give him, love would always be his weakness.

Before he was even aware, Felix was crying. The tears left lines of gold across his cheeks, flowing down to his chin and dripping into the scarf around his neck. He didn't sob like Malcolm, didn't snivel pathetically, his tears weren't for this moment but for the centuries building up. All those years on Neverland at Peter's side tainted and irrelevant. He was right back where he started, a whore in a bar with a scoundrel insisting that he loved him.

Wasted. His life was wasted. That was why he cried, not for the man before him but for himself.

Still, Malcolm lunged forward, desperate to clutch Felix in his arms till all their tears ran dry and the two could find solace in nothing else but each other. Slipping on the dirt, Malcolm tumbled through his misty body, grunting pathetically as he fell to the ground. Both of them stood frozen for a while, Malcolm staring at his hands utterly baffled while Felix kept his eyes locked on the scoundrel. Felix had plenty of customers in the back alley and despite the ghostly appearance, all of them were fully tangible.

"Ah…" Felix murmured in realization. Malcolm hadn't figured it out though and turned to Felix pathetically, pleading with his hands outstretched, "I see," He whispered to himself, walking right through Malcolm as he left the scoundrel behind in the dirt.

Felix was mistaken. He thought he had chosen this form because all of his memories of Neverland were too painful to relive. He was wrong. This wasn't just any memory in his long, grueling life as a whore. This was before he met Malcolm, back when the scoundrel was nothing more than a customer to him, back before Malcolm laid claim on his heart and held any sort of power over the boy. This was Felix's happiness _; this was Felix's eternity_ , to never fall into Malcolm's arms again.

And this was Peter's punishment. For living a selfish life, he was destined to never have what he wanted most.


End file.
